a crumpled page
my rigid fist
as if to wring out truth
and ink could run
like blood that's dried
the place I thought you were
cupped in hands
big lake's cold
washes nothing away
roar of surf
echoing over hills
dunes beneath growth and rot
never again to see
cruel burning sun unless
land- a torn wound
none of this
enough to save
I speak as if I know you
certainly I don't
only these trails of words
we leave each other
and if I believe it's possible
can't you
where is that wooden boat
blue paint peeling
dingy yellow patches
so what
if the oars are frayed
if waves are fierce
I need the wind
to sting my ears and dull my grip
I won't let go
those useless oars
I'll reach the other side
that's where you're wrong
you see
I will
not if it doesn't kill me
it will never kill me
only the part
that won't be whole
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